The boy dropped to the grass with a thud, evoking barely a twitch from the injured alien lying beside him. Dib shakily crawled over to the prone figure, tipping Zim's face up toward him and peering closely at the alien's pain-wracked features. Looking at his state, the Irken would definitely need medical attention, but this was clearly a bad place to give him a checkover. The grass was moist with dew, and he could clearly see the pale yellow wash creeping into the eastern sky. It would soon be dawn, and to be caught out with an unconscious alien, more so a sopping wet one riddled with second-degree burns, would surely attract unwanted attention.
Cautiously, Dib bent to pick up the alien, scooping his arms in under the body. This action obviously aggravated the burnt flesh, because Zim suddenly gave a yelp and squirmed away from the painful touch, causing Dib to yank his hands away in alarm. He bit his lip, looking at the alien apprehensively. Well, this was going to be tricky. He tried approaching from several angles, sure that none of them would be comfortable let alone painless. When Zim began to moan and shiver, Dib's worry increased. He had to find a safe place for the Irken, and quickly! But he had no way to carry Zim, unless… his trench coat.
In a swift movement the boy had yanked off his dry coat and carefully bundled the trembling E.T. inside it, making sure not to bump anything the wrong way. Zim grunted as he was lightly jostled, but didn't wriggle. That was hopefully a good sign, unless it meant he was getting weaker. Thankfully the Irken was skinnier than him, and not too heavy.
With both arms loaded and bag on his back, Dib staggered to his feet. He tipped his head up to the east. The glow of the sun could clearly be seen now, and as much as the teen wanted to feel the gentle warmth on his wet, shivering self, he set his mouth and began to walk as quickly as possible in an eastward direction, heading for the only place he could think to take them both.
Dib felt as though he'd completed a military exercise by the time he navigated his way across the town. Especially being in bare feet and wet pyjamas, it was near hell for the boy with the limp alien in his arms, wrapped snug into his coat. The sun stung his eyes but offered little heat; however, by the time he'd stumbled across the wheat field (fearful of biting wheat creatures, several of which complied to sample him) he was visibly steaming from the exertion. That was one way to get clothes dry, he thought sourly, before turning his gaze to the brooding dark building that stood stark against the morning sky.
Dib grinned when a thought crossed his mind; it was perfect for Zim. It looked defiant and ancient, remaining the same as the city grew up around it. Although it may have lacked the Irken's personal flare, as did his former green base, it reflected his proud, defiant personality. Then an image of a charred, smoking heap of cables and a ragged, dull-eyed alien wiped the smile off his face. Feeling rather sullen now, he nudged oen the slightly ajar door and stepped anxiously into the musty interior.
Onto a bare patch of floor the unconscious alien was laid. The boy stared down at him. He looked so vulnerable like this. It would be so easy just to slice him open, spill his organs to prod and examine, or whisk him off to the Eyeballs. Yet Dib didn't feel any warm satisfaction from that thought. He didn't know- it was like trapping a mouse and then being told to kill it. It took away all the pride of the moment and left you with a cold, sick feeling. Not that he'd thought about holding the alien captive, of course! Had he…?
Dib shivered and suddenly remembered that he was frozen stiff from walking across the town in the sleepy part of the morning, in soaking wet pyjamas. He bit his lip, realising he'd have to get them off. Much as he wanted to figure out what to do for Zim, he certainly didn't want his muscles cramping up entirely while he was doing it. He couldn't do anything for Zim when he was incapacitated himself. Nodding to himself, Dib stood up and went to get his bag, eager to get into dry clothes.
The prospect of undressing in front of Zim made him feel a little uncomfortable. When attempting to actually take off his shirt, the feeling increased tenfold. Dib sighed. Yes, he was a wuss. But Zim would be fine just until he got back, right? A whimper from the alien told him to hurry up about it.
Scooting into a nearby room to change, Dib discovered the first useful thing. A first aid kit. It was practically a godsend, sitting there on the staffroom table (which was apparently the room he'd scooted into), bathed in dust and murky sunlight. The second thing he discovered was a linen cupboard. He joined in with the irony and grinned.
Returning to his casualty with the kit and a few (hopefully clean) towels in hand, Dib wondered briefly how he'd go about removing the alien's pants. There'd definitely be some burning on Zim's legs; jeans had their limits. He gratefully decided that he'd worry about that when the time came. Priorities first.
After untying the scarf from Zim and then prying it off himself (it was sopping wet and draped around him like a soggy snake), Dib got his fingers up under the hem of the maroon jumper and slowly worked it up over the alien's torso. Zim gave barely a twitch as he did so, and it worried Dib. All he could feel were the gentle tremors signalling that the Irken's breathing, if shallow, was still present.
There was a brief scare when he couldn't quite work the alien's arms out of his sleeves, and Zim yelped and gave a little kick at Dib when the fibres, scratchy when wet, teased his sore skin.
"Ow…" The teen rubbed his now mildly bruised leg and got back to work with a set mouth. Reflexes were a good sign, right?
He finally succeeded in pulling the top over the Irken's large green head (almost as large as his…!) and bit his tongue to curb the shout of dismay that followed. It looked bad. Bad was an understatement. Dib almost couldn't bear to look at the grotesque patchwork covering Zim's torso. The jade green skin may have once been smooth, but now it was littered with blistering sores and even steamed a little in the crisp air. Even without touching it Dib could feel the waves of heat emanating from it, and Zim was still shuddering occasionally. Could he be feverish? Did aliens get fevers? That was one thing Irken archives hadn't told him. Dib very cautiously placed his hand on Zim's forehead, recoiling and wincing when it inevitably burned. A soft moan from the alien tore his attention away from his own tingling palm. What was he doing? Wasting time? The boy set his mouth, not so much trying to assert himself as force last night's dinner to stay where it was. Tending to an injured body was said to be nauseating. Well, now he had the experience first hand.
Fighting a savage battle with his nerves, which were trying very hard to slink away into a dark corner, Dib reached for the towel and began very gently drying the Irken's top half with slow, precise dabs. It was time consuming and nerve rattling (Zim's shuddering drew worried looks more than once, and was a living nightmare to work around), but finally he had the alien acceptably dry and looking visibly less agitated.
Oh dear. Now for the less anticipated part. Dib dropped his gaze apprehensively to the alien's damp jeans. Clearly they'd need to be removed if he wanted to fully dry Zim, and the wet denim must be causing him some pain anyway. But it felt wrong… oh so wrong. What if Zim suddenly woke up and got the wrong idea? There must be another-
Dib smacked his forehead harshly. He was being a wuss, trying to shun the inevitable! He hadn't just carried his unconscious extraterrestrial …nemesis?... all the way across town in the unpleasantly crisp morning air just to stop here. Setting his jaw firm once more, Dib grasped the rough material and prepared to yank; common sense catching up and checking him barely in time to stop himself tearing off the jeans and ripping an awful lot of burnt skin in the process.
He'd need a better way to do this, but he still didn't find the idea of exposing Zim entirely appealing (disowning the mildly intrigued, in a sick, twisted sort of way, feeling), so he whipped out another handy towel and placed it over the area of concern. Having organised this, Dib sat back, starting to form a very reluctant idea in his mind. He'd seen a little knife lying in one of the open dusty drawers, almost a rather large version of a penknife and used for slicing open book boxes. He was back with it in no time. Now – he sucked in a breath – time for some risky business. Taking the hem of a jean leg, he worked the blade into it and opened it in a quick slash, thankfully steering clear of any actual skin. He then proceeded to tease the fabric, tearing it until the jeans eventually came off; and thankfully, after all that, the towel had, in an uncanny act of obedience, stayed put.
Dib then turned to the first aid box. He hadn't gotten a chance to look inside yet; it'd be a blow if it didn't have what he needed. The metal catches stuck before giving way, and Dib lifted the lid to take a peek. Bingo! The teen gratefully pulled out bandages, plasters and an assortment of balms, one of which, he was pleased to discover, claimed to be for burns. He wasn't quite sure whether you were meant to put cream on burns of this magnitude, but it seemed logical as he certainly couldn't put water on these ones. Dib sincerely hoped it was compatible with the alien skin. Another allergic reaction was the last thing Zim, and himself, needed. He retrieved a sanitary cloth from the kit, dabbing a little of the thick substance onto it and doing a patch test on a slightly more protected area of skin, and held his breath while he waited. It was an immense relief when the skin didn't swell, turn dark or simply dissolve, so the teen proceeded to apply good quantities of the stuff wherever it was needed, stopping only when every last burn was covered. There wasn't much balm left by the end.
Exhaling, Dib sat back on his haunches and looked over his work. The alien had squirmed a tiny bit when the cold balm touched him, but he hadn't moaned or screamed, which Dib was very grateful for. It saved him from panic himself.
The alien was certainly looking less pained than he had, in fact, he appeared to be sleeping quite peacefully under the blanket Dib had given him. It didn't look like Zim needed any more immediate attention, so Dib bundled his trench coat into a ball, leaning down and using it to prop himself up. Ahh… he hadn't realised how tired he was. Dib yawned and sagged gently into the makeshift pillow. He wouldn't allow himself to sleep yet. Not until the balm did its work, and he could be sure the Irken was out of the woods, at least for now. The silly alien had wandered into his house, so it must be his responsibility to help him. Dib satisfied himself with that explanation for lack of a better one. Relaxing, he watched his patient through half-lidded eyes, waiting for the Irken to stir.